Page 60 of Tied Up in Riches

Dear god, my neck aches. My head is sweaty like when I wake up from a nightmare. I move to stretch but freeze when I open my eyes. Even with just a sliver of light peeking through at the edge of the ugly maroon hotel room curtains, I can take in my surroundings well enough to realize I spent the entire night sleeping on Marcus. On my fake boyfriend who is barely my friend.

Maybe it wouldn’t be such a big deal if I didn’t have a very tiny, hardly noticeable crush on him. But come on! The man let me sleep in his lap for god’s sake–even though he’s clearly uncomfortable with the entire idea of comforting me. Comforting me in that way, I should say. My thighs clench slightly at the memory of his fingers between them. God, it felt good to be touched that way, by someone so sure of himself, so determined to make me feel good. I still couldn’t get out of my head, though. On top of my solidified belief that my own orgasms are nearly an impossible achievement for anyone, and my insecurities around that frustration, there are too many questions I’m afraid to ask.

I take a deep inhale through my nose to center me. Ugh. He smells so good. The faint sandalwood is fused into the shirt I’m wearing.

I move slowly to avoid waking Marcus, but the moment I’m off him, he stirs, his middle fingers digging into the corner of his eyes and wiping the sleep away. I have no idea how he slept sitting up all night. “Morning.” His gravelly morning voice does nothing to help the crush.

“Hi. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s alright. How did you sleep?”

“Honestly, it was the best night's sleep I’ve had in a while. Thank you.”

He offers me a soft smile before shifting off the bed and heading to the bathroom.

I take the freedom as a chance to collect myself. With there being a three-hour time difference, it’s way too early to text the group chat, so I give myself a pep talk.

You’re only drawn to him because you’re in a fragile state, and he’s here.

He’s doing this as a favor to you.

He’s your boss.

This is just a free vacation for him.

The touching stuff is just a challenge for him.

Don’t suck the fun by continuing to be in your feels.

Don’t make things awkward by giving him any indication that the sight of him shirtless and petting your hair nearly unraveled you.

“Are you alright?” Marcus stands at the end of the bed in nothing but black joggers cinched mid-calf. Holy hell, he’s hot. The bright orange and pinks of his koi fish tattoo stand out boldly against the splashes of blue water and his skin. It’s kind of weird that it’s so colorful considering he doesn’t seem to own a single piece of clothing that isn’t black or gray–maybe a dark blue. His deep brown hair is pulled back and his ocean eyes wait patiently for my response.

“Oh yeah. Totally. Just thinking about the plan for the day,” I lie.

“What do we have planned before the fundraiser?”

“I wanted to go to lunch with Cam. You’re more than welcome to come. I’m sure he would be happy to have you there.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“He said you look like you have a big dick.” I mentally slap myself. What the fuck, Brooke. I need to stop letting sex-related thoughts slip into conversation, especially when I’m trying not to think about having sex with my boss.

“Is that so?” He smirks.

“He said if I’m not going to flirt with you, then someone needs to.”

The words shut him down, any playfulness disappearing. Fuck. I meant for that to be flirty. What is wrong with me? “I’ll stay back. I’m going to workout. Then I have work to do, anyway. Have fun.”

It’s fine. This is how it’s supposed to be. A business trip. Okay, fine. Maybe it’s not work. But it’s just supposed to be two friends helping each other out. Walking to the closet, he pulls a black shirt from the hanger and tugs it over his head. As he adjusts the shirt into place, he approaches me, and each step closer makes my heart beat faster. I follow his movement as he reaches for his phone on the nightstand next to me, pocketing it before grabbing his AirPod case and the room key as well. When I think he’s going to turn and leave, he leans over the mattress, his fist pressed into the comforter by my leg.

I freeze, phone gripped tightly where my hands rest on my criss-crossed ankles. He holds my stare. “If anyone is going to get confirmation on that assumption, it’s not going to be Cam.” Then he pushes off the bed, leaving me there running through every single thing those words could mean.

Chapter twenty-five

Marcus

Twenty. I press the last rep with my chest shaking. The steel bar hits the rack above me harder than it should, the 225 pounds of plates clinking when I release it. I swing my body up with the very little remaining strength I have, my feet grounding into the floor as I reach for my sweat towel. Fuck. I drag it over my face and drop the wet cloth on the black leather bench between my legs.

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